


Broken Halos

by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gabriel's rescue, Mention of torture, resolved angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 06:15:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14099067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_and_MM/pseuds/lacqueluster
Summary: “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fast,” Asmodeus teases, wrenching Gabriel’s hair to make him look up. The smile on his face is absolutely wicked. “No, you know me better than that, don’t you.” He shakes his head, sneering at Gabriel. He leans down, whispering into Gabriel’s ear. “Can’t ruin a good time by making it quick.”





	Broken Halos

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Gabriel Monthly Challenge March prompts. This fic combines three prompts. The gif, which is included at the beginning of the fic. 
> 
> The statement:  
>  **Without warning, a crash ripped through the air, and he opened his eyes.**
> 
> And the song, Broken Halos, covered by Chris Stapleton.
> 
> Please note that this fic has not been beta'd. My beta is extremely busy at the moment and I didn't want to add to her stress. Any grammar or spelling mistakes are completely my own, as well as any overall suckiness of this fic.

  
 

 

_ “Gabriel!” _

The voice is an urgent whisper, the same one he’s heard a thousand times. No, more like a million. Or a billion. Who knows at this point. He’s lost count of the days, the weeks, the years, and the dreams that have filled them.

How long has he really been down here, locked in Asmodeus’ cage like an animal? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s spent hours upon hours imagining that same voice coming to his rescue. It’s never real, always a figment of his imagination, or worse... 

Sometimes it’s not his imagination torturing him, it’s demons. Demons love playing tricks on him. How ironic is that? Playing tricks on the Trickster. He’d laugh if he hadn’t thought of that joke a thousand times before. Hell, maybe a million. 

He hangs his head, closing his eyes, ignoring his thoughts. They seem to be a loop, like everything else these days. The same thoughts, over and over. The same day, over and over. Like his own personal Groundhog Day hell. 

There’s a clanking in the door lock, shaking hands trying to be quiet. He ignores that too. None of it’s real, he learned that long ago. 

The door sequels, rusty hinges protesting the movement. He doesn’t even raise his head. He won’t give the demons the satisfaction of acknowledgement. 

_ “Gabe?” _

That whisper again, the voice he knows so well. He hasn’t heard it in years, except in memories and dreams. The pain it causes to remember you is almost more than he can bare, and yet sometimes thoughts of you are all that keep him going. 

“Oh my god,” there’s a stifled sob, “what have they done to you?” 

When the hand touches his shoulder, trembling fingers catching in the tattered rag of his shirt, he doesn’t wince. He knows this charade well. When he raises his head he’ll see your face, only for an instant, before it morphs into a laughing demon. He’s not in the mood for it today. 

Something warm hits his hand. His eyes flutter, watching what looks like a tear trace down his finger. Another hits, making a track through the filth on the back of his hand. Is it his tear? He doesn’t think he’s crying, but where else could it come from?

“Gabe, can you hear me?” A hand grips his arm gently, shaking him. “C’mon, we gotta get you outta here.” 

The hand on his arm is warm and soft, but insistent. This demon his good. He doesn’t budge. 

“Please, baby...” 

The wracking sob he hears as your voice breaks almost makes him open his eyes. Almost. 

He hears you leave. He’d smile if it wouldn’t pull the damn stitches in his face. He raises his head less than an inch, just enough to glance at the open door. You’re gone now, no, the demon is gone, leaving the door standing wide open. How many times have they tempted him with that? How many times has he ran toward it, only to be knocked flat on his back, indescribable pain ripping through his body as he writhes on the floor. No, he won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him hit by that invisible warding again. He’s done it one too many times. He won’t play their game.

For a moment he almost feels a sense of peace. His eyes drift closed once again. It’s so quiet all of a sudden. He doesn’t even hear the screams of torture. That’s strange, when he thinks on it. Hell is never quiet. Those screams never stop. 

“...need help, Cas. He won’t even look at me, I don’t know what to do.” 

The demon isn’t done with it’s games after all. He’d hoped it had given up. No such luck.

“We need to hurry, we should be ascending by now.” The urgency in his brothers gravely voice is a nice touch. These demons could probably win an Oscar for this performance. Must be some hack actors who sold their souls for fame. 

“Father help us,” the fake Castiel says upon seeing Gabriel. “What have they done?” 

“Can you heal him? Something? We need to go, Sam and Dean can’t hold them off forever.” The desperation in your voice is obvious, and once again Gabriel marvels at how good these demons are. 

Black shoes slip into the downward view of his eyes. The stark contrast between the clean black leather and the filth of the floor is almost jarring. 

“Brother,” the voice is soft, but commanding, “can you move?” An inhumanly warm hand touches Gabriels shoulder. “I cannot heal him here, something is--”                                            

**_Without warning, a crash rips through the air. The air cracks like lightning, seeming alive with electricity. Gabriel hears you scream, finally raising his head. He’s not prepared for what he sees._ **

Asmodeus stands in the doorway of his cell, white suit charred in spots. His hand grips your throat, lifting you off the floor. Your feet swing, toes pointed down to try to get your bearings. Your fingers dig into his wrist, drawing blood that drips to the floor and stains the white shirt sleeve as it runs up the arm. 

“Well, well,” the smug bastard says, eyes moving over your face, “what do we have here?” The Knight of Hell rolls his head languidly, meeting Gabriel’s eyes. “I do believe I’ve interrupted your rescue, hope you don’t mind.” 

Gabriel blinks, pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. 

Castiel sputters on the floor. Gabriel hadn’t noticed the rumpled vessel of his brother laying there until now. He watches him partially stumble, trying to recover from Asmodeus’ attack. His hand reaches out to grip the bench that Gabriel sits on. That handsome face looks up at the archangel, blue eyes shining with the light of grace of the angel within, and it clicks. 

These aren’t demons. Well, Asmodeus is, but not you, and not Cas. He’s read this all wrong. 

“We have to fight,” Cas whispers to Gabriel, pushing himself on up to his feet. He gets his bearings and turns to face Asmodeus. He opens his mouth, but before he can even speak Asmodeus raises his free hand. 

A fierce bolt of power cracks from his palm, whipping Castiel back and slapping him into the wall like a rag doll. 

Gabriel cringes, drawing away from the burning power. He knows that pain all too well. His shackles rake the floor with a rusty scratch. 

He stares at Cas’ body laying just a few feet away. He’s not dead, Gabriel knows that. He can’t look away, knowing that’s what he’s looked like, rumpled and burned at the hands of Asmodeus’ power. It’s almost like he’s watching himself from outside his body.

A desperate, wheezing whine pulls his attention back to the moment. Gabriel’s head snaps up, meeting Asmodeus’ laughing eyes. Or rather, his own eyes. Asmodeus has changed his appearance, making himself look like Gabriel. He does these illusions with Gabriel’s power, though Gabriel doesn’t know how. All he knows is he can feel it draining him. 

You whimper, caught in the grip of that cruel hand. The sound of your pain isn’t a physical one, it’s emotional. There’s a broken heart living in that whimper as you look down into the fake face of an angel you once knew so well. There’s an unmistakable sadness that Gabriel has wondered so often if you felt. Did you miss him? Did you look for him? Did you want him back? All those questions are answered in that one, heart wrenching sound. 

“What’s the matter, old friend?” 

Gabriel is pulled from fleeting thoughts of you and how you feel about him. He meets Asmodeus eyes, ones that look just like his own. 

“You a little tongue tied? Cat got your tongue?” He asks the archangel. 

The jokes bounce off Gabriel. He’s heard them all a million times. He doesn’t care about words, not now. Right now all he can think about is you being here, being  _ real _ . He watches your hands, seeing the strength of their grip on the arm holding you up. You’re getting weaker. 

He has to help you. What can he do? He tries to stand, the chains on his hands and feet seeming to weigh him down. They’re not heavy though, his body is just weak. He probably hasn’t stood in weeks. What for? But now he needs to, and his vessel protests. 

At the sound of Gabriel’s chains Asmodeus drops you. Gabriel watches you gasp, desperate for air, hands clutching your neck, eyes tightly shut.

“Tsk, tsk,” Asmodeus says, appearance changing back to the yellow eyed demon that’s true to his nature. He pulls a pocket square from his jacket, shaking out the small cloth. He wipes at the blood on his wrist. “She’s a fighter,” he holds his arm up to showing the damage, “that what you liked about her?” He walks towards Gabriel, heels of his expensive shoes clicking on the stone floor. 

Gabriel hates that sound. That sound equals pain, torture. He tries to shuffle back, chains clanking as his legs collide with the bench behind him. 

Asmodeus laughs. “Scared?”

Gabriel doesn’t have the guts to even respond to that, eyes shifting down in shame. He shouldn’t be afraid. He’s an archangel after all. But years in hell will change the nature of even the most powerful beings. 

“Oh my God,” your voice creaks, sounding bruised like your neck. “No…” 

The whisper trails away and Gabriel looks around Asmodeus to finally meet your eyes. The horror he sees in your face scares him more than any pain that’s been inflicted on him here. You look appalled at the sight of him, like you might run or be sick at any moment. He closes his eyes tightly, never wanting to see that look again. 

“Can’t even stand the sight of you, can she?” Asmodeus says, breath coming in soft little puffs on the skin of Gabriel’s face, he’s that close. He grabs Gabriel by the hair, shoving him down to sit on the bench again. 

“Say, angel, I got an idea,” Asmodeus goes on in that slow, southern drawl, “how ‘bout you watch me kill her.” It’s not a question. “Yeah, you can watch while I kill her. And this angel brother of yours too.” He kicks at Castiel’s body, toe of his shoe colliding with a thigh. Castiel grunts. 

Gabriel feels the tremors starting. His body shakes from deep inside, terror taking over him. He can’t watch you die. He can’t let that happen. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it fast,” Asmodeus teases, wrenching Gabriel’s hair to make him look up. The smile on his face is absolutely wicked. “No, you know me better than that, don’t you.” He shakes his head, sneering at Gabriel. He leans down, whispering into Gabriel’s ear. “Can’t ruin a good time by making it quick.” 

A strange thwacking sound makes Gabriel jump, the hand in his hair tightening before letting go. A  squelching, wet noise comes next. Asmodeus tries to stand, looking at Gabriel with wide eyes, and then suddenly falls down into his lap. 

“Not happening, dickhead.” Dean Winchester is looking down at Gabriel, twisting an angel blade into the heavy body laying in his lap. 

Gabriel panics, trying to get out from under the weight of Asmodeus. He doesn’t want to touch him, not even for a second, not even if he’s dead. He scrambles, weak and desperate to get away. His shackles get caught on Asmodeus arms, making him even more frantic. 

“Woah, woah,” Dean says, voice low, trying to calm him. “Calm down, it’s ok. We’re gonna get you outta here.” 

Castiel moves, coming back to consciousness. 

“Cas, you okay, buddy?” Dean asks as he grabs Asmodeus’ by the jacket collar, hauling his body off of Gabriel and into a pile on the floor. 

“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel manages, struggling into a sitting position. 

“Can you walk?” Gabriel hears Sam Winchester ask you, and he sees you nod. He watches you take Sam’s hand as he helps you up off the floor, steadying yourself on his taller frame. “Dean, we gotta go. Asmodeus won’t be out long.” 

“C’mon,” Dean reaches out towards Gabriel, wanting to help him up, but Gabriel shrinks away. 

No matter how much he thinks this is real, he still can’t quite trust it. Demons have impersonated the Winchesters before. How does he know this is really Dean? He can’t know for sure. And even if he did know without a doubt, he can’t leave this cell. He can never leave this cell. The warding prevents it. 

Dean’s demeanor changes as he watches Gabriel cower. “Listen, I’d like to take our time, let you have a therapy session with Sam or somethin’, but we gotta go. Do you understand me? We don’t have time right now.”

Cas is standing, but barely. He smooths his trench coat with charred hands. “Gabriel, brother, can you walk? We have to be quick. We should have been above ground by now.” 

Gabriel looks up into his brothers eyes. He can’t answer, not with his mouth sewn shut. But even if he couldn’t he doesn’t know what he’d say.  _ No. No, I can’t leave. You have to leave me here, the warding on the door will kill me. _ How can he get that across without words. 

“Gabe,” you’re beside Dean, standing shoulder to shoulder between him and Castiel. You look down at him with pity in your eyes and it makes him bitter, angry, sad. “Come on, please? Can you try?”

Gabriel shakes his head no. He closes his eyes. No. No, no, no, he shakes his head over and over.  _ Leave.  _ He wills it. _ Leave me here.  _

“Sorry, but we don’t have time for this.” Dean says it and before Gabriel can open his eyes he feels a white hot lightning bolt of pain down the back of his head, and then it’s dark. Just dark. 

******

Gabriel blinks, eyelids fluttering at the soft light in front of him. He holds very still as he regains consciousness, trying to figure out where he is, how long he’s been out. 

There’s a small table by the bed with a lamp on it, and a glass of water. He stares at it, listening, waiting. It’s quiet, calm. 

He remembers you, Castiel, the Winchesters. Asmodeus slumping forward into his lap, blade sticking from his back. The memory seeps into his brain like a movie he’s seen, not something he lived through.

He moves in the warmth under the blankets, stretching, muscles and bones protesting with soreness. He feels better than he has in years, but he’s still not himself. He’s lucky if his power is close to a cherub right now. It’s nowhere close to what it should be for an Archangel. 

He closes his eyes and thinks. He should really force himself to get up.  _ Move _ . He doesn’t really know if he’s safe. What if he’s still in hell? What if this is an illusion? He can’t really trust anything. He shouldn’t trust anything. Still, the feeling of calm sinks in to him and he simply can’t make himself get up. 

He starts to drift again, eyes rolling drowsily in the soft light. He remembers waking before, only briefly, and looking up into your face. His head was resting in your lap, and your shaking hands were snipping the stitches in his mouth carefully. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and you’d wipe at them in irritation. One slipped through, landed on his face, making the punctures around his lips sting. He didn’t care. 

“Gabe? Are you with me?” Your expression had changed, concentration on your task lost. Your worried brow had eased a little, and your thumb traced down his cheek. “Stay with me, baby. I’m going to get you cleaned up. Okay? I’m almost done.”

He couldn’t stay with you. Darkness pushed him under again. A deep, dreamless sleep pulling him away from consciousness. 

“Gabe,” he heard your plea from what seemed like far away, “ _ please _ .” 

He raises a hand to touch his face. The stitches are gone, no trace of them left. Either Cas was able to heal the wounds, or the tiny bit of gace he’s regenerating had managed to do it on it’s own. He’s not sure. 

A voice in the hallway makes him freeze. 

“Hey, how’s he doin’?” It’s Dean Winchester. 

A hand touches the door knob of the room Gabriel is in. He blinks wildly, looking around. He feels like he’s in a cage again. Who’s coming in here? 

Your voice responds. “I don’t know, Dean. Sometimes I think he’s getting better. Cas healed some stuff, but some of it he couldn’t. Asmodeus really did a number on Cas, and that was in five minutes. Imagine what he did to Gabe? He was down there for  _ years _ .” 

Dean makes a deep sighing sound. The door is paper thing, Gabriel can hear everything. 

Gabriel moves a little more, setting up slightly in bed so he can look around while he listens. 

You start talking again. “He’s still sleeping all the time. It’s been days. He has nightmares a lot, moaning, fighting in his sleep. I don’t know how to help him. I just, I feel like I failed him.” You take a shaking breath. “How did we not find him sooner? We should have found him sooner, Dean. He needed me…”

Gabriel knows he shouldn’t listen to this conversation. It may be  _ about  _ him, but it’s private. You’re not talking  _ to  _ him.

“Listen,” Dean cuts you off, “listen to me, okay? I’ve seen my share of broken halos through the years. Angels, they’re not like us. Some of them, it’s like they shatter, you know? They break in so many pieces that they can’t be fixed--” 

A sob from the other side of the door makes Gabriel ache deep through his chest. You’re crying, for him, about him, and as much as he wants to get up out of the bed and go to you, he knows he shouldn’t. Not now. Not yet. 

“Don’t cry,” Dean tells you, “I’m not done talking yet. So some of them brake, but not all of them, not the good ones.” A patting sound makes Gabriel think that Dean is hugging you, trying to console you. “You tell me, after all he’s been through over thousands of years, you think he’s broken? You think he can’t be put back together? Because I don’t.” 

You sniff, probably wiping the tears in irritation if Gabriel had to guess. “I know,” your voice is soft, “I’m just scared.” 

“Nothin’ wrong with bein’ scared,” Dean says matter of factly. 

“I wish I knew if he’s still in there, if  _ my _ Gabriel is still in there. Ya know?” 

“Yeah, I know.” It’s quiet after that, and he figures you and Dean have left, although he doesn’t hear footsteps. 

He studies this room, realizing that this isn’t just any bedroom he’s in. This is your room. There’s pictures of you in frames here and there. One with Dean, standing next to a pool table, holding a trophy for a pool tournament. There’s one with you sandwiched between Sam and Dean by the Impala, a burger joint in the background proclaims “World’s BEST Hamburgers!” You’re all three smiling. 

He looks at the table on the other side of the bed from him. There’s a picture there, turned toward him, and when he sees it his heart flips. It’s a picture of you and him, taken before the night in Elysian Fields, before he ran off to try and take down Lucifer. 

You’re looking at him, a huge smile spread over your face. You’re eyes are dancing with laughter, full of love. He must have said something funny. Gabriel isn’t posed for the picture, he’s in the middle of talking, but he’s not what matters in the picture anyway. You are. 

He remembers this. Not the words he said, the joke he told, but the moment. He remembers his arm around your shoulders, holding you close. The sound of you laugh in his ear. He remembers a second later, when he turned to look at you, and resting his forehead on yours. 

He remembers it so well. Like yesterday.

He reaches over and picks up the frame, holding it like it’s the most precious piece of fine art on the planet, because to him it is. 

He hears the door open and tears his eyes away from the memory. He looks up at you from the bed, seeing the shock on your face at him being awake. Your mouth falls open, hand frozen on the knob. 

“Hey, sugar,” he says to you, the first words he’s spoken in years, “long time no see.” 

  
  



End file.
